Page 193 of Broken by my Bully
His hand is on my throat.
On. My. Throat.
Jesus, this is too real. Fantasizing about my much older professor is one thing, but?—
“What about my generosity is so hard to stomach, sweet girl?”
“I…I don’t need your hand outs,” I whisper, my voice trembling. “I don’t even want to go to this stupid?—“
“Oh yes, you do,” he breathes through a chuckle. “I can see it in your eyes. I’m getting sick of the way you think you don’t deserve to have beautiful things. Expensive things.” He brushes a strand of hairfrom my face, then tucks it behind my ear. “Don’t you want to know what it’s like?”
For a second, I don’t know what he’s referring to. Probably because I feel his cock pressing against my hip.
It’s very hard.
It’s very big.
I clamp down on a whimper as my pussy clenches in self-defense.
“Hair done up all pretty.” He curls a section of my hair around his finger, the grip on my throat twitching the same time that his cock does.
The pathetic sound I make is somewhere between a mewl and a moan. He ignores it and strokes his knuckles along my jaw.
“Face painted all nice.”
His hand coasts down my side, barely touching, but still managing to set my nerve endings on fire.
“This beautiful body wrapped in designer silk.”
He inhales a short, sharp breath through his nose and steps back to stare me down.
“I do,” he says, giving my throat one last, hard squeeze before releasing me.
All my mushy brain can come up with is a shaky, “You do?”
He rearranges his cock with a vicious jerk, dark eyes falling into shadow when he drops his chin. “After spending the afternoon with a bratty little cocktease like you?” He scoffs. “You can be glad I didn’t rail you against that taco stand.”
Tears prick my eyes. Not from fear.
From shock.
From humiliation.
From how wet I am.
“How fucking dare?—”
All it takes is a click of his tongue for me to fall silent. I let out a shuddering breath, and it sends a tear spilling down my cheek.
“When I tell you to strip, you strip. Or you can walk back toAgony Hollow in those broken flip-flops with my cum leaking out of both your tight little holes.”
I don’t know what happens in my brain. How his disgusting, condescending words manage to short-circuit my rational mind into obeying. Again.
But this is what happens around Bastian Rooke.
He’s weaponized his charm, his allure, his fucking sharp mind.
“I could get you fired for this,” I say, my voice as pathetic as the threat.
